


our blood is cold, and we're alone, love

by hanekawa



Series: Kiss Me Goodbye, I'm Defying Gravity [3]
Category: Johnny's Entertainment, KAT-TUN (Band)
Genre: Assassin!AU, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-16
Updated: 2013-08-16
Packaged: 2017-12-23 16:19:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/928580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanekawa/pseuds/hanekawa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He wanted nothing more than to slash him open and hang his insides from the ceilings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	our blood is cold, and we're alone, love

_Maybe redemption has stories to tell_  
Maybe forgiveness is right where you fell  
Where can you run to escape from yourself?

_(Dare You to Move – Switchfoot)_  
.

  
.

  
(“ _Close your eyes. Block your ears. Then run and run until you feel your legs burned…then come to me._ Come find me.”

So he did.

And then put a bullet through his head.)

-

This is his earliest memory:

He wakes up in a white bright room, screaming some unintelligible words at the top of his lungs, and passes out just after.

-

(This is his _true_ earliest memory:

He opened his eyes. Looked around, and found the room he was in was in a pristine condition, with enough dust and molt and stale air to make him think it hadn’t been lived in for quite some time.

There was dirt on his hands, his bare feet, his bare ankles. He brought a hand to his face. Felt some smudges on his cheeks. Used his nails to scrape some of the smudges off his cheek, only to see caked dark brown thingy under his nails, unlike the dirt on his fingers. Realized with a sudden jolt it was dried blood – which was really odd, since he was still soaked wet from his hair to his toes.

“You’re sloppy.” Said a voice, somewhere in the room. He lifted his head, scanning his surrounding. Found a lanky guy with calculating eyes and a sneer leaning against the far wall. “Good, but still sloppy.”

“And you‘re _oh_ so much better.” He said, voice scratchy.

“I saved you, didn’t I?” The sneer turned into a smirk. “I could teach you.”

He only stared blankly at the guy, while the guy’s smirk melted away into a brilliant smile – something that he would later learn was quite rare.

“The name’s Ryo, by the way. What’s yours?”

He was fourteen the first time he met Nishikido Ryo.)

-

When he opens his eyes again, somebody is sitting at an uncomfortable-looking chair by his bed, dark head bent down over a spread of papers on his lap.

There’s a pleasant buzz around him, a faint ringing in his ears, and he feels so very light, weightless, almost like he’s floating on water. He wonders if he’s about to drown then, since there’s this drowsiness quality to his vision, like something ( _someone_ ) is trying to get him under.

“You’re awake.”

He turns his head to the side. The dark head earlier has straightened up to reveal a distinctive feature of a face, framing by unruly dark hair. The eyes are bloodshot and seem to shrunken on themselves, as if trying to suck the remaining life on the surface. The grayish and washed out color of the skin also definitely doesn’t help.

For a moment, he wonders why is it he’s the one lying on the bed, when the person before him clearly needs it more than he does.

“How do you feel?”

For a few seconds, he only stares numbly at this person, trying his best to make sense of the question. “Like I’ve just one too many hit to the head.” He tries to sit up, only to slump back on the bed with a painful groan. “Or one too many hit to the chest.”

“Right. I’m Akanishi Jin, by the way.” The person says, his lips forming something between a smile and a grimace. When he just keeps staring at him blankly, the man adds, “I’m your _roommate_.”

-

(“I have a fiancé.” Kazuya was saying, as he threaded his hand lightly over Kame’s short hair. His fingers were gentle on Kame’s scalp, careful, like he was holding something precious and dear. It was disconcerting enough that Kame didn’t know what to do with it, so mostly he just ignored the feeling.

“Yeah?” Kame mumbled to Kazuya’s chest, from where he was currently sprawled over Kazuya’s lap like a child.

“Yeah. His name’s Jin. You will like him, I think.” There was a smile in Kazuya’s voice, fond and warm. “He’s always been so brass and stupid and careless, and when he puts his mind into something, there’d be no stopping him.” Kazuya’s fingers moved over Kame’s nape, and Kame burrowed himself further into Kazuya’s chest. “I think he will like you too, if you met him.”

“Nah. Stupid people piss me off. Make me want to shoot them between the eyes.”

There was a sigh, sounding like a cross between amused and wary. “We really need to work on your trigger-happy fingers.”

Kame just let out _mmm_ noise of contentment as a response, closing his eyes and burrowing himself deeper into Kazu’s jacket .)

-

Once, he remembered waking up beside Uchi on his bed, their legs tangling under the covers. There was a kind of pleasant ache he could feel all over his body, the kind he always felt after a good sex. He blinked. Sex. Uchi.

Huh.

“Morning, sleepyhead.”

He tilted his head up slightly. Uchi was smiling down at him, all mussed hair and heavy-lidded eyes and scratchy voice and open expression – happiness pouring off of him in waves. Uchi was easily the brightest thing he had ever laid his eyes on.

He wanted nothing more than to slash him open and hang his insides on the ceilings.

Uchi suddenly blinked, smile gone in an instant. He drew himself away from Kame, looking mightily startled.

Kame frowned. “I’m sorry, did I just say it out loud?”

The other boy let out a shaky laugh. “Are you always this *sweet* to your bed partners in the morning after?” it was rather clear from his expression he desperately wanted this to be a joke.

Kame only frowned deeper. “Well no. I mean, usually they’re all dead by morning anyway, so there’s never a need for a *morning after*.”

Uchi blinked. And then let out another shaky laugh, louder this time. “You’re kidding, right?” when Kame kept looking at him blankly, he stopped laughing abruptly – eyes blown wide. “ _Holy shit._ ” Then he got himself off the bed and started looking for his own clothes and jeans among the mess on the floor. He did it with more speed than was necessary, although still not enough to put it into _running away_ category. It was damn close though.

He *had* got Uchi almost-but-not-quite running away from him. That was… really a feat onto itself.

“Okay, word of advice?” Uchi addressed him, “don’t talk about shit like that on the bed. Or, you know, _ever._ ” he threw a dirty look Kame’s way at the last word.

“But aren’t we supposed to make *small talk* at such a time? Like, about our jobs. Or our wishes. Or our former, ah, partners.” He didn’t bother getting up; just lying on his side, watching Uchi prancing about in the room with lazy eyes.

“Even those things are supposed to be filtered! Certain matters are simply not fit for public consumption! Didn’t Ryo ever teach you that?” then he paused, and made a face. “Wait, don’t answer that. He probably *encouraged* you, that *bastard*.”

In Kame’s half-awake brain, Uchi sounded exasperated, and just a little bit irritated, but definitely fond – which was Uchi’s default when it came to Ryo, really.

Kame rolled to his stomach, his elbows propped under him so he could look at Uchi properly, who was having his back to him as he struggled to put on his t-shirt. There were scratch marks on his shoulder blades. Kame looked down at his own not-so-blunt nails. Wondered if he was the one who put those marks on Uchi. Wondered what Ryo was gonna say if he knew. Wondered what *Uchi* was gonna say if he knew *Ryo* knew. Then remembered the looks they pretended they didn’t give each other. And. And then--

“And yet still you wish you slept with him.”

Uchi froze. The t-shirt was still bunched up in his armpits, and his muscles flexed interestingly as he slowly turned around to face Kame.

“What did you say?”

Kame frowned. “You heard me.”

Uchi made an impatient sound in the back of his throat. “Of course I heard you! I was merely asking you what did you *think* you were saying at all!”

“For someone who’s supposed to be mild-mannered, you’re shouting an awful lot right now.” He observed.

Uchi’s eyes narrowed into slits, his expression closing down. With one forceful, angry tug, his t-shirt came loose and covered the rest of his upper body properly. “Do I need to remind you that you’re not the only one Ryo’s been hanging out with for years? I know a few tricks I nicked off of him which would make normal people quivering in fear.”

He looked at him bleakly. “And wouldn’t you like to learn *more*.”

Uchi let out this snarl, like a hissing cat, a sound resembling something between anger and exasperation, shoulders tense and itching for a fight. “What is this with you and all this—this random jabs at Ryo? If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re *jealous*.”

He sat up straight then, the covers pooling around his middle. If they were gonna talk then _they were gonna talk_ , and he wouldn’t want to be at a disadvantage by being in a vulnerable position – even if technically he *was* at a disadvantage since Uchi had on his t-shirt and Jeans while he had only the protection of his covers. But. Well. It was the thought that counted.

“Aren’t you, though?” he said, in that impassive tone he knew Uchi hated. “Jealous, I mean. Of me. Because—“

Before he could finish that sentence, Uchi sprang on him, a hand going for his throat. Which was— _bad move_. Uchi might have the height and weight advantage, but Kame was the faster one, always had been the faster one, see, all instinct and feline grace, and before either of them knew it, he was pinning Uchi to the floor, his bony fingers holding Uchi’s wrists on either side of his head, while his legs locking around Uchi’s, rendering him immobile.

Uchi was looking at him weird right now, weird as in unusual, since Uchi was the most confident person after Ryo, so all those panicky desperation should’ve no business on his face. But they were, okay, they were on his face, and something else Kame didn’t recognize, because Kame and feelings had never been the best of friends. Uchi’s mouth was moving, telling Kame something, shouting at him really, judging from the rapid-fire way his mouth moving, something like _Don’t say it don’t you ever finish that thought you retard please there’d no going back please don’t for once in your miserable life--_

But all Kame could hear was the loud roar in his ears, a residual rush of adrenaline as his instinct retreated back into the corner of his mind, as his brain slowly regained back the control of his head.

He was nose to nose with Uchi, and he knew if Uchi could turn his head away, he would; except there was no room, see, because Ryo had taught him good on all the art of rendering people helpless and immobile.

“—because this is the closest you’ll ever get to Ryo.”

And then he kissed him.

Except Uchi didn’t respond; he honest-to-God froze, not like he didn’t know what to do, but more like the shock had paralyzed him completely. And it was no fun kissing a corpse, so Kame released Uchi’s wrists and pulled back, using his elbows to support him.

Uchi still didn’t move a muscle. Only stared at him with a crushed look in his eyes, like the world had fucked him up all over again.

“Please,” Uchi began, and it was just wrong to hear the note of betrayal in his voice, the desperation that managed to bleed into his tone, “Please tell me you didn’t think I slept with you just so I could get to Ryo.”

It was then that his mind blanked for a second, because-- _because._

Whatever it was, it must have shown on his face, since Uchi made this terrible, terrible sound, like a cross between manic laughter and a broken cry.

Then with a strength and agility he never demonstrated before, he flipped them over, so now Kame was the one with his back on the wooden floor, wrists held together with one hand over his head, while Uchi *loomed* above him with an expression he didn’t know how to interpret..

Kame blinked up at him. And then became suddenly aware of his own full-on nudity, while Uchi was fully dressed above him.

“I just-- _God_ \--I don’t even—why would—“ Uchi bit his lower lip, seemingly trying to get himself under control. “How could you even think so lowly of me?”

And that was exactly the problem, wasn’t it? Because this—whatever _this_ was—wasn’t so much about Uchi as it was about _him_. How could he even answer that, when he didn’t even know why he did what he did most of the time?

Except it was a lie. _Except it was a lie,_ and he knew it was a lie all along.

And yet still he held on to it like a lifeline.

“Why else would anyone even want anything to do with me?” that… came out way more honest that he’d like. He frowned.

Uchi made that terrible sound again, that half-laugh and half-cry sound, and it was even more horrible the second time around.

“God, you really mean that, do you? I can’t even— _have you no sense of self-worth at all_?” Uchi looked more wrecked by the second, until Kame started worrying whether there would be anything left of him when this was over. He tried reaching out, but Uchi wouldn’t let him.

“In all the years we’ve been friends, have I ever showed any sign of cowardice? Because let me tell you, I have neither the patience nor the presence of mind to let anything – and I mean *anything* – get between me and what I want. Do you understand what that means?” he punched the space just beside Kame’s head with his free hand, making Kame shiver from the slight vibration caused by the impact.

He should’ve felt worried, he thought, except right now he was anything but.

“That means,” Uchi leaned down further until Kame was forced to turn his head to the side, until he was speaking right on Kame’s ear, “If I wanted Ryo, I would’ve gone straight to him, instead of wasting my time with *you*.”

And then he just sagged against Kame, falling on top of him, like he just lost a fight, like all his energy just abandoned him. His breaths were warm against the side of Kame’s neck. Kame didn’t need to see him to know he was being watched.

“Have you,” Uchi whispered softly, “never thought that you’re *worth* it? That you are—“ he pressed the words onto Kame’s neck, “—worth waiting for?”

Kame closed his eyes. Felt like his heart was stuck in his throat.

“That maybe—“ Uchi mouthed his adam apple, nipping, sucking, enough to make Kame realize it was so gonna leave a mark, “—it’s been *you* all along?”

There were lips pressed on his own. Soft, chapped lips. There one second and gone the next.

It tasted strangely like tears.

 _Wait_ , he wanted to say. _Wait._

He opened his eyes and sat up abruptly, the covers once again pooling around his hips. Looked around, but there was none else in the room. Wondered, once again, if he was dreaming.

He pulled the covers around him, more from the sudden cold rather than propriety. Dragged his way slowly to the bathroom. Turned on the sink, and just watched as the water filled the basin, until it poured over the side. Lifted his face to the mirror, and—

Froze.

There, right on his adam apple, was a distinctive teeth mark.

Not a dream, then.

He followed the bite mark on his reflection with a slightly shaking finger. Then he traced his lips with his tongue, trying to chase the aftertaste of that last kiss – but found only regret in its place, like salt on an open wound; like a hit right to solar plexus; like being trapped underwater on a frozen lake; heavy and tangible in its intensity, unchangeable in its reality.

It wasn’t something he would want to experience *ever* again.

(He was nineteen the first time he experienced a heartbreak.)

-

(“I’m sorry.” Kame said much, much later.

“…no, you’re not.” Uchi said, sounding tired and weary beyond his years.

“Just—let me make it up to you.”

“Don’t let me see you for a while.” _Click._

He kept the phone close to his ear, even long after static replaced the sound of Uchi’s voice.)

-

For the whole week after that, he tried to stay low, and especially away from South Tokyo area, where Uchi was stationed. It wouldn’t be a problem if only there wasn’t such a shortage of Erasers around Tokyo at the time, with almost all of Rifles-friendly Erasers sent out for some Big-Thingie-Children-Had-No-Business-Knowing (so Ryo said) in Hokkaido – which resulted in him having to triplicate his active duty time, which, in turn, left him virtually no time to think things through regarding the ‘Uchi Situation.’

It was at a time like this he regretted his decision to pursue hand-to-hand combat instead of firearms.

“But duty is duty, you see, and if I didn’t do it, then the Management will bitch at Ryo, who will bitch at me while being *pissed* at having been bitched at, and I couldn’t even bitch at Uchi this time since he’s apparently still mad at me.”

Sighing, he pressed a gloved hand to his right cheek, while his other hand supporting his right elbow.

“Do you understand what I’m saying here? You seem like a decent enough bloke, so you surely understand what I’m saying, right?”

He took a step back, inspecting his handiwork with a critical eye, before sighing and going back to the other side of the warehouse, where he kept his other tools and miscellaneous stationery.

“I mean, I’ve observed the Management only ever told me to wipe out decent-looking people. Like, smart looking people. Law-abiding citizens. Sharp-eyed military officers with sharper instincts and even sharper sense of justice – which is just the worst duty assignment anybody could ever get, since those people are *military*.”

Having chosen his additional tools, he went back to the center of the warehouse, where a man was sitting tied to a wooden chair, his wrists and ankles securely strapped. Just about six feet in front of the chair, there were twelve other men lying on their stomachs, with their hands tied behind their backs, each with the same rope used to tie their ankles together, all of them gagged with a cloth.

It was irritatingly painful. For them, that was.

Ryo usually always thought any situation that disrupted your blood flow was hilarious, while Uchi always disapproved heartily – he was a fan of quick death, since it usually provided less material for him to memorize for his job as an informant. While Kame… well.

He dropped to his knees behind the chair, and started to assemble his tools in a certain order, taking his sweet time doing it as he knew all the eyes were on him right now.

“See, the thing is, the Management, those lazy fuckers, only told me to ‘kill them’ after giving me a list of names. There were no specifics mentioned, and do you know what that means?”

He waited for answer. It didn’t come.

“That means they won’t care the methods used so long as the objective is achieved. Which means, if I chose to kidnap you and kill you later instead of shooting you dead the second I see you, they won’t care. Which is--”

He chose a tool from the selection, picking randomly without even looking. When his hand brought out an ordinary-looking pen, he smiled. It was not a nice smile.

“--which is too bad for you all, really, since I’m not in the mood for a quick death.” Because it would remind him too much of Uchi, and that topic was just not on for the moment.

“But since you’re the first one and all,” he whispered to the person on the chair, putting his hand around the guy’s shoulders in a mock embrace, “I’ll make an exception.” He paused. “It still depends on your luck, though.”

He exhaled loudly, making the guy shiver uncontrollably, probably from cold as much as fear.

“I mean, this point here,” he pressed a finger on the skin behind the guy’s ear, the hollow just underneath it, “is one of the thinnest, warmest skin on a human body. So if I hit you there with a sharp, *long* object, either you’re gonna get paralyzed and die a slow, painless death, or you’re gonna bleed out like a pig and die a slow, excruciating death.” He frowned. “Or you could also die a quick death, but that’s exceedingly rare. So. Better pray, man.”

Then he smiled, and _drove the pen through his neck._

The sudden burst of blood totally ruined his new shirt. Damn. And it was the tailored one, too. Ryo was so gonna chew him out once he found out.

He glanced back at the guy’s now blood-soaked suit, and noticed nearly three-fourth part of the pen was embedded in the guy’s throat. Huh. He pulled the pen out, endured yet another burst of blood, and examined the pen closely.

Either he was *that* strong, or the pen was a good make.

He brightened. Uchi would be ecstatic if it was the latter; because then he wouldn’t need to buy new supplies of pen as often anymore. Except then he remembered that Uchi still didn’t talk to him, didn’t want anything to do with him for a while, and he instantly felt twice depressed.

This *sucked*.

Then he lifted his head, and saw all the horrified, horror-struck faces staring at him in obvious fear. He stood up. Their eyes followed his movement. _Ah._ Of course. He still had a duty to fulfill. He took a small step forward, the bloody pen still in hand, and saw the pathetic way they all tried to move away. He giggled. As if he could ever make a rookie mistake by making a less-than-perfect knot.

He felt a slow grin slowly spread across his face.

“Who’s next?”

Well, at least he still got toys to play with.

(Two hours later, he still had a brokenheart, but he also had a burning warehouse with sliced-beyond-recognition bodies inside it, so he felt a little cheered up.)

-

( _Wait_ , he says. _Please wait._

But no one ever does.)

-

The first time Kame shot a firearm, Ryo nearly killed him.

That in itself was rather illogical, since *he* was the one with a deadly weapon, while Ryo was pretty much weaponless (except for the knife he kept hidden in his left boot, but since he didn’t actually use it, it didn’t count.)

It went like this. There was a factory, about a ton worth of illegal drugs, a police raid, and *innocent* bystanders. Innocent in the sense that they weren’t on duty, that was, so technically they weren’t supposed to be involved. Long story short, one well-placed detonator, and the police went down like flies. Unfortunately, so did the building. They were just about to go through the back exit when a lone police with crazy eyes caught up with them and pointed a gun to their heads. Ryo immediately held up his hands in surrender, since they were, once again, _off-duty_ , and he refused to exert any energy if he wasn’t gonna get paid for it.

Kame often suspected if someone tried to kill Ryo when he was off-duty, he would actually *let* them.

To make it even more absurd, the police was actually delusional enough to think out of Kame, Uchi, and Ryo, Ryo was the least dangerous one, and proceeded to make him hostage. Seriously. Did he not notice the manic eyes?

(To be fair, Uchi had the height advantage, while at the time Kame was wearing a black leather overcoat on top of his Kevlar vest, which made him appear bulkier than Ryo’s thin shirt and letterman jacket.)

“Seriously, are you even for real?” said Kame, because it bore mentioning.

“Ohh, I’m so scaaaared,” said Ryo, looking bored as all hell.

“Shut up! All of you!” said the sorry excuse for a police.

“Now, now, why don’t you keep the gun away from my friend’s temple, and talk about this? I’m sure we could find a way to compromise.” Said Uchi, forever the smooth talker of the group. Looking at him, you’d never guess he’d soon stab you just as your back’s turned.

“Look pal,” said Kame, “have you never watched any action movies at all? You’re the police here. We’re the bad guys. It’s practically a rule we’d save our own asses before anyone else’s. Besides, have you even *looked* at your hostage at all?”

“Help me! I’m so hapless! I’m a useless damsel in distress!” Said Ryo pointedly.

Uchi turned his head away, his body shaking violently. From hiding his laughter, most likely.

“Shut up! Throw away your weapons!”

Uchi cheerfully threw away his Beretta.

Kame sighed. “You asked for it, buddy.” And then threw away the grenade in his hand. _The pinless grenade_.

“Watch out!” Said Ryo, and then fly-kicked the grenade out the window. It exploded loudly just as it passed the windowsill, showering them all with flying debris from the destroyed wall. “That was a fucking _grenade_ , you frigging moron! Are you trying to commit a frigging mutiny against me or something?!”

“See, Mr Police?” said Kame triumphantly. “Do you still think he’s a hostage material?”

Uchi’s shaking only got harder.

But apparently, the police was really _that_ crazy, since he insisted on not releasing Ryo. “Hands up in the air, I said!”

Now even Ryo took a break from playing hostage to stare incredulously at his attacker. “Help! Please save poor little me!” said Ryo, because it was that or shouting _our hands are_ always _in the air, you frigging dimwitted moron._

By now, Uchi was shaking so hard Kame was afraid he was going to get an aneurysm.

This was getting ridiculous, and he needed a hot shower _now now now_ dammit. So he whipped out his ultimate weapon and pointed it on Mr Police’s general direction.

Both Uchi and Ryo did a double take. “Is that… a grenade launcher?” Uchi asked.

“An _M320_ , to be exact. Isn’t she a thing of beauty?” Kame said fondly. When both Uchi and Ryo kept staring at him, he added, “What? I read the label!”

 _“I said throw away your weapon!”_ the crazy shouted.

“For the record, you said ‘weapon’ as in, singular, and not ‘weapon _s_ ’ as in, plural. And we did throw away each of our weapons the first time.” Said Kame.

“Kame,” Uchi said, sounding pained, “You do realize if you fired that thing away, you’re going to blow Ryo to smithereens? You know, like that wall over there?”

Kame frowned. “Oh right. Fine.” He pushed the _M320_ aside mournfully. Then pulled out a _Benelli M1014_.

Ryo stared at him. “Is that an automatic shotgun? Where did you get that thing? I didn’t even know we have those in our weaponry!”

“A semi-automatic, actually. You like it?” Kame beamed.

“Yes, if I actually wanted to be turned into a _hamburger_. Put that thing away, for God’s sake! You haven’t even got training in firearms!”

Kame’s eyes narrowed. “You know what? Fuck it. Mr crazy Police officer, why don’t you shoot your hostage? He seems to be _begging_ for it.”

The officer looked down uncertainly at Ryo.

“Do it, and you’re toast.” Ryo promised.

By now, Uchi’s shaking had advanced into coughing – which didn’t really help in covering the tell-tale of his laughter.

“You don’t like this, you hate that. Just there’s no pleasing you, is there?” Kame threw away his shotgun and drew a _H &K PSG-1_, put the stock on his shoulder, and aimed the muzzle at Mr Police. “Ha! You can’t complain about this one, can’t you?”

Ryo looked about ready to throw an epic tantrum. “That is a sniper rifle, _you retard._ You’re not supposed to use that in a close-quarter fight! Besides, yours still has its bipod attached! Do you even realize how stupid you look?” it wasn’t said, but the _you moron_ was heavily implied at the end.

“Your inexperience with firearms aside,” Uchi said once he put his laughter under control, “I’m actually more interested in finding out _where the hell did you hide all those heavy artillery in your body?_ Seriously, they’re not the kind you can carry around without a case. Especially that sniper rifle.”

Kame sent a betrayed look Uchi’s way. “You actually picked his side?”

Now it was Uchi’s turn to send him an unimpressed look. “I’m an informant. It’s practically a number one rule to never pick a side.”

 _”Put away all of your weapons now!”_ screamed the crazy police officer, pushing his gun insistently to Ryo’s temple.

Kame and Uchi both sent him an unimpressed look. “I’m starting to get irritated here.” Said Kame, pushing his _H &K PSG-1_aside.

“So am I.” Replied Uchi, narrowing his eyes. “And this is supposed to be our day-off too.”

“So you won’t mind so long as we done here quick, right?” asked Kame.

“Sure.”

Ryo suddenly looked alarmed. “Wait,”

“Send my regard to your God, bitch.” Said Kame. And then fired his newly uncovered _M4_.

An empty magazine later, Uchi pulled his fingers from his ears as Kame threw aside his rifle. Ryo was crouched on the floor, while the area to his right was covered in blood and human matters, with Mr police’s head turned into an impromptu beehive with the amount of rounds it sporting.

“Ryo-chan! You okay?” Kame was about to rush to Ryo, except Uchi’s hand on his wrist prevented him.

“Wait,” Uchi shook his head. “Something’s wrong.”

Together, they watched as Ryo slowly dragged himself to his feet, shaking down debris and dirt from his person. His left side was completely drenched in blood, making it as if he’d been showering in blood or something, which was—impressive. Or so Kame thought.

“Ryo-chan! None of the bullets got you, right? I’m so sorry! But that man seems so crazy I just—“

Ryo held up a hand. Kame paused mid-rant. “Let me ask you one thing: I asked you to wait, didn’t I?”

“…yes?”

“Do you know what I’m wearing at the moment?” there was something scary in the way Ryo said that that made Kame’s hair stand on end. From the way Uchi tightened his hold on Kame’s wrist, he obviously felt it too.

“Er. No?” Kame said, at the same time Uchi said, “Blood?”

“They’re *vintage*, you _morons_. How are you going to fix this, huh? Huh?” said Ryo in a high-pitched tone one would associate with that of a mental patient’s hysterical fit.

“Ryo-chan, could it be you’re still in shock?” asked Uchi. “He did nearly shoot you, after all.”

Kame sent Uchi another betrayed look. _That traitor!_ And then it all dawned on him. “Wait, you’re actually mad not because I nearly shot you, but more because _I ruined your clothes?_ ”

“They’re vintage!” Ryo said again, like it should make sense. It didn’t. “I repeat,” said Ryo, suddenly quiet again, eyeing them dangerously, using his blooded appearance to full effect, “ _How are you gonna fix this?_ ”

They both gulped. “You know, if your clothes were really that precious to you, I don’t think our lives would compare to its value.” Said Kame.

Ryo snarled.

“Run.” Uchi urged. Kame didn’t need to be told twice.

(Ryo never let him anywhere near a rifle after that. Or a shotgun. Or any kind of firearms, really. He’d try to argue, except Ryo could carry a grudge like nobody’s business, and he was still too attached to this world to go against him.)

-

The first time he met Yamapi, he was busy pinning a guy to the wall with one hand, while his other hand shoved a stapler on the guy’s mouth and pressed the sharp teeth of the device to the inside of the guy’s cheek.

Shut up.

It was a slow day, and he was bored to hell. Uchi was off doing his job, so Kame was stuck accompanying ( _baby-sitting_ ) Ryo for his quarterly examination. Except Ryo was being a big girl and refused to let Kame accompany him inside the examination room, so he was stuck in the busy lab instead, looking (and feeling) like an abandoned puppy.

“Aww, aren’t you just adorable?”

Kame stared. Someone was cooing at *him*. What the hell.

“Are you lost, dear?” the strange man said in that weird gentle way one used around little kids. “Would you like some candy or cho—“ the man reached for the inside of his jacket, and it was then all hell broke loose.

Without even realizing what he was doing at all, he had slammed the man against the wall with one hand, while his other hand grabbed something from the table; he was already swinging the thing to the man’s face when he realized it was a _stapler_. At the last moment, he flexed his hand so that instead of hitting the man in the face, the stapler slid smoothly into the man’s mouth instead, sandwiching his cheek from the inside and outside, and he started to press the device—

“Toma!”

A hand on the back of his overcoat hauled him away from the man; surprised, he let himself be dragged backward for a second, only to drive his heel on the foot of the person behind him. Hard. There was a hiss of pain, and before this person could recover, he turned around and kneed him on his groin, followed by an uppercut to his jaw.

The other person stumbled to the floor in a lethal position, his hands moving between his (probably broken) jaw to his groin, like he couldn’t decide which of both areas was actually more painful. He still tried to get away from Kame, though, scrambling backwards awkwardly, which was just--

And then Kame grabbed a scalpel from the table and flung himself toward him, bashing the other person’s head once on the floor – hard – before grasping his shirt collar while raising his other hand above him, scalpel aimed at his eye, and then driving it down—

“WAIT!!!”

Kame paused.

But not before the scalpel made contact; instead of the targeted eye, it struck through the other person’s hand. Literally.

Quite a reflex this person had, then. Apparently he managed to shield himself with his hand at the last second, saving his sight and sacrificing his left hand in the process.

Looking back over his shoulder, he zoomed in on the source of the shout earlier. Saw that first man; his terrified eyes, horrified expression; the obvious worry in his face; but *not* for himself, Kame belatedly realized. The man was worried for the person still trapped under Kame.

He stared at the face of the person under him. Come to think of it, he had never seen these two around the lab before. Intruders? New recruits? He tried to take in his surrounding, the scene behind the strange man, and suddenly noticed how the other people at the lab *carefully* averted their eyes from them. He turned back to the person under him. Huh. Definitely newbies, then.

He sighed. Oh, the idiocy he had to live with.

“Look,” the first man said, and Kame immediately narrowed his eyes at him. The man faltered, but determinedly kept on, “I apologize for being rude to you earlier, but. Could you please, maybe, release my friend here? You know, so he could get treated before he bleeds himself to death?”

What a moron. You couldn’t die from a crushed hand; suffer, yes. Die, no. He paused. Or maybe the man meant the guy would die from the pain, instead of the blood loss itself?

Well.

Kame stared up at him. The man had guts. Most people in the lab usually just let him do whatever he wanted, pretended nothing was amiss. But not the newbie, apparently. Either he had the gut of steel or he *really* was a moron.

And then he noticed how his hand was still tight around the handle of the scalpel, despite the fact the thin knife was embedded to the hilt on this guy’s hand.

Huh.

“Or,” Kame said decisively, pushing forward the scalpel a few millimeters, “I could always drive this scalpel further – until it penetrates his eyeball and goes straight to his brain – _by his own hand._ ” He smiled up cheerfully at the first man.”You know, so that he wouldn’t need to bother with treatment at all?”

The first man gasped in horror, but when Kame turned his attention back to the second man, the guy only stared hard at him. Like he was steeling himself for what was to come. Like he already knew this was going to happen from the start.

Like he was ready to die.

Kame pouted. It was no fun killing people who wanted to die.

“Oh fine.” He conceded, releasing the scalpel from his grip and rising himself to his feet, sidestepping the second man in the process.

The first man eyed him cautiously. At Kame’s careless shrug, he immediately rushed to the second man’s side, helping him up while fussing over him at the same time.

“What’s your name?”

The pair looked at him with a frown – the first man a worried one, the second a wary one. Probably deciding it was safer to answer, the first man opened his mouth. “Um. My name’s Ikuta Toma. And this is--” he squeezed the second man’s shoulder, who kept glaring defiantly at Kame, “—Yamashita Tomohisa.”

Kame beamed. “I think I like you.” And then he gave them his most charming smile.

Except instead of smiling back, the two widened their eyes, like they had just officially signed their own death warrants. At the same time, an uncontrollable shiver racked down their forms, as if the room temperature had just plummeted beyond zero degrees.

He continued smiling at them.

Uchi would be so *proud*.

(He was twenty-one the first time he made a friend (who didn’t immediately drop dead) without Ryo or Uchi’s help.)

-

Kazu was the one who pulled the trigger.

It was so *ironic* he still couldn’t believe it was real.

 _There’s one thing I want you to remember_ Kazuya said, eyes looking right at Kame’s. He didn’t even give the Glock aimed to his head a glance.

 _What is it_ Kame asked.

Kazuya drew them close together then, positioning Kame’s free hand on the small of his back, while his own right hand covered Kame’s left one on the handle of his Glock. For a moment, Kame thought Kazu was going to snatch the gun away; instead, he steadied Kame’s grip on the handle, replaced Kame’s finger on the trigger with his own, and then _pointed the gun securely against his own temple._

Kame stared at him.

Kazu smiled ruefully. Then he pressed the palm of his free hand against Kame’s cheek, and tilted his head sideways slightly, as if in a preparation for a kiss. Which was might as well, since he whispered his next words right into Kame’s mouth.

 _It’s not you--it’s me._ Then he pulled away a fraction, and breathed out, _I’m sorry._

He wanted to ask what the hell Kazu meant by apologizing to *him*, since *he* was the one ordered to kill him, so he was the one supposed to apologize, and not Kazu. He opened his mouth—

Except then the door to the office creaked open, revealing somebody, a dumbfounded note in his voice as he croaked out “Kazuya—“

\--At the exact time Kazu flashed him a last smile and pulled the trigger.

He didn’t even *think* about it before he went through the window and jumped to his death.

Or not.

(He was nearly twenty-three the first time he jumped out of a twelve story window and _survived._ )

-

(Kazuya haunted him, after.

With no company other than himself for the few weeks he’d been in solitary confinement, his mind had deemed it necessary to amuse him by making him relive Kazuya’s memories.

That first time they met, when Kazuya impressed him by drawing his Glock and shooting it faster than Kame did with his (borrowed) Beretta; the first time Kazu showed him how to throw a baseball, as well as practice his hand grip; the first time Kazu showed him his fiancé’s stupid face; the first time Kazu told him _I’m an undercover police; but I guess you already know that._

He did; but that wasn’t the point. _Liar._ He said instead.

 _Come with me._ Kazu urged. _You’re not fit for this place._

 _How dare you,_ Kame said, and let his eyes show what he thought of Kazu’s offer.

 _Come find me. I’ll wait for you._ Kazu said, _Even if it was only to take a revenge on me._

So he did.

And then pulled a bullet through his head.

Kame closed his eyes. Like a child, believing so long as he couldn’t see the monster, then the monster won’t find him. That maybe if he closed his eyes, blocked his ears, he would forget how the point-blank shot had gone through Kazu’s head and shattered the glass window in the process; how the _exit wound_ basically looked like hamburger; how they’d never get the blood stain and brain matters out of the carpet; how despite countless murders he’d committed, Kazu’s was the one kept replaying in his head.

_I’ll wait for you._

_It’s not you--it’s me._

“Why are you sorry,” Kame said quietly. “What are _you_ sorry for?”

He waited for an answer. It never came.

-

A few weeks after he was released from solitary confinement, he went to visit the lab.

It was just--he needed alone time; Uchi kept looking at him like he might break down any second-- _again_ \--while Ryo kept making scathing remarks in that way that didn’t really disguise his genuine worry. Both meant well, but he just couldn’t take it anymore. He knew he was a little fucked up in the head after Kazuya’s murder, and he really didn’t need the constant reminder.

So he went to the lab, where its occupants were always too terrified of the idea of an ‘Eraser’ to bother him. He was, after all, still an Eraser – even if he still hadn’t gone back to active duty.

In the lab, he didn’t even do anything; just sat on one of the table, arms hugging his knees, and watched one Yamashita Tomohisa working.

Later, Kame would ask, softly, “What are you doing here?”

He expected Yamashita to purposely misunderstand the question; to answer it with a non sequitur, maybe. Something literal – something meaningless that would answer his question without *really* answering it at all, like _waiting for my shift to be over_ or _doing my job_.

Except he didn’t.

“Because I hate being alone.” Yamashita said, eyes flickered for a second to the right, where his friend (Toma?) was hunching over some device on the other side of the glass wall.

All Kame heard was _I don’t want to lose anyone else._

Something tugged deep in his chest, something painful and awful. He looked at Yamashita, at the naked longing in his eyes, then at his friend on the other side, oblivious. Then he remembered Ryo and Uchi, and hated himself for understanding the feeling.

He smiled. It felt just as painful. “Careful, doctor. Or I might start thinking you actually ~ _like_ ~ me.”

Hopping off of the table, he made for the door. He paused just behind Yamashita, feeling the other man tense up. Ever so carefully, he laid up a blade – the same one he always teased Yamashita with – just an inch off of Yamashita’s right hand. He caressed the body of the blade with a finger—slowly, as if he was memorizing the texture—before sliding it on the blade’s eye.

They both watched as drops of blood stain the formerly spotless blade.

”Live well, doc.”

He left, Yamashita’s confused gaze burning into his back all the way.

-

(“I’m sorry,” Kame never says. “I’m sorry.”)

-

A year after the disaster that was Kazuya’s murder, he was called to a meeting with one of the higher-ups in the Management. This was unusual, since he usually only received his orders by proxy.

”I want you to kill Nishikido Ryo,” the guy behind the desk said, looking at him with a critical eye. ”He’s become a liability.”

”Okay.” Kame said, and then _set the guy on fire._

-

(No one touched what was his. _Ever._ )

-

-

When he sees Yamashita again a year after he started living with Jin, he’s not sure which one of them is more surprised. It goes like this:

He’s digging a hole – like, seven feet in depth and about five feet in width – on a field behind his campus for his latest class project. He needs to get more equipment from the lab, so he covers the hole with a wide cloth. Of course he never counts on it to double as a trap either – which is why he’s horrified when he gets back and finds the cloth _gone_.

“Oh my God I’m so sorry! It’s not supposed to do that!” he rushes to the hole and peers down from its edge. He was expecting some animal, maybe, some poor hapless little thing that was colorblind enough to step on a cloth that stands in contrast with its surrounding.

A pair of black eyes stare back at him, unblinking, a naked surprise on the owner’s face. Its lips part, but no sound comes out.

Kame blinks. “You’re a human.”

The guy snorts. “No shit, Sherlock.” And then he frowns and looks around, as if he couldn’t believe he was the one who has just opened his mouth. When his eyes find Kame’s again, there’s a guarded look in them, like he’s mentally preparing himself for something—awful.

But all Kame does is throw a folded plastic chair into the hole, not bothering to hide his smile when he hears the resulting curse as it ‘accidentally’ hits the guy’s shoulder. “Use that to help yourself out of your own carelessness. I’m not strong enough to get you out by a rope.”

“My own careless—“ the guy looks incredulously at him. “You’re the one who set up a fucking trap in the middle of nowhere!”

“You’re the one who is retarded enough to fall for it in the first place!”

They glare at each other. Then the guy gets that guarded look again, complete with the frown, which means he must be remembering who he is (Yamashita Tomohisa) and who Kame’s face used to belong to (a supposedly dead Eraser).

“Look, if you want to be holed up there all night, far be it for me to stop you.” Kame says. “But could you give me my chair back? I had to return it to the lab before sunsets.”

The guy grumbles, but he obediently unfolds the chair and steps on it to climb out of the hole. After that, Kame makes him lean over the edge to pick the chair back, with Kame holding his legs so he wouldn’t fall. Again.

“You’re quite handy with technical stuff, aren’t you?” Kame says, giving the guy a smile – one that he’s practiced in front of the mirror way too often, one that is reflected in his eyes, one that he always gives Koki. It’s a disarming smile, Koki told him.

The guy blinks. “Sure.”

“Maybe you could help me with my class projects.” Kame says. “I’m Kamenashi Kazuya! And you are…?”

The guy watches Kame’s offered hand warily. Then he takes it, his hold strong, his eyes firmly on Kame’s face. “Yama—“ he clears his throat,”—Pi.”

Kame eyes him amusedly. “Yama _pi_?”

“Yamapi.” The guy says resolutely.

Thus, Yamashita Tomohisa becomes Yamapi. He sticks close after that, helping Kame with his class many projects. There’s a wonder in his eyes, a question, every time he looks at Kame. But he never asks, and Kame lets him make his own conclusion.

(He lets Yamapi hovers around because he’s familiar, _safe_.

…or so he lets himself think.)

-

(“Kamenashi Kazuya, huh?”

“What? You think it’s funny?” Kame rolls his eyes at Yamapi. “You wouldn’t be the first to laugh at it, so go on. Laugh away.”

Yamapi clears his throat. “No, I mean. It’s…oddly appropriate.”

Slowly, very, slowly, he looks at him. At the stubborn light in his eyes, despite the uncertainty lacing the strain on his face. At the way he holds himself together, despite the obvious thrum of energy under his skin, like he’s seconds away from bursting open. Then he remembers the lab, the defiant look in his face despite the trembling in his body, and he just. He smiles and says, “It is, isn’t it?”

Yamapi blinks. Looks down at the ground, almost like he’s hanging his head. “I just,” he says, lifting his head, “I’ve been wondering for so long, that’s all.”

“Oh.” Kame says, throat tight, because it explains everything and nothing at all. “Oh.”

All those times in the labs, and he hadn’t known his real name. He never will, _now._ )

-

His hands are shaking.

 _His hands are shaking_ , and he can’t, for the life of him, make them _stop_.

“What, you coming down with summer flu or something?” Uchi asks.

Kame laughs. It’s a horrible sound—all wrong and desperate with no mirth in it. “I’m in withdrawal, I think.” He stuffs his fists into his coat’s pockets. Tries to smile, but feels like he might start crying instead.

“Only you would ever treat killing people as an addiction.” Uchi frowns. “It’s been more than three months. This urge should’ve gone by now.” Then his eyes widen. “Oh my God, did you—“

“I haven’t killed anyone.” He pauses. “Well, not human, at least.”

“Kame! I told you not to rack up a body count during—“

“No, you didn’t.” He looks at him blankly. “You didn’t even know I was gone until it was too late. The only reason you’re here is because Kamenashi, the dead police officer, reappears as a college student, with only his roommate as his tie to the police.”

Uchi looks hurt.

Kame sighs. Rakes a hand over his face, pushing his bangs aside. “Look, I’m sor—“ he suddenly tenses. A quick look at Uchi shows the other boy’s hand behind his back, possibly fingering his Beretta. Obviously he also hears the disturbance.

Summer wind, summer wind. Loud and harsh and unforgiving, but still not enough to mask the nearly unheard noise.

Before he even knows what he’s doing, he’s already across the park, his blade neatly embedded on the intruder’s stomach. He drives it further deep, eliciting a choked gasp from the intruder, before sliding his blade horizontally. He feels something give in the inside, and thinks maybe he tears the guy’s kidneys.

“ _Kame._ ” An urgency in Uchi’s voice. When he looks back, Uchi’s face is white, eyes blown wide. “His _face_.”

Dutifully, he turns his gaze on the intruder’s face, and---

Freezes.

The clouds have moved away, letting the moonlight shine upon them once again. Standing there, with only a few in inches separating their faces, blood on his lips, naked surprise on his eyes, is none other than Tanaka Koki.

“Oh God.” Kame steps away, mouth hanging open in disbelief.

Koki immediately crumples to the ground, choking, his eyes still doing their best to look in Kame’s direction.

“Oh God Koki I’m—I’m so sorry—I don’t even—“ he rushes to Koki’s side, but Uchi’s voice stops him.

“You should go.”

He spares Uchi a glare. “He’s still alive! We need to get him to a hospital!”

“We both know with a wound like that, he’s only got five, maybe fifteen minutes, at max!” Uchi lets out a shuddering breath. “I was tailed earlier. I thought I’ve shaken it, but obviously I haven’t. He was after me, not you.”

“He’s my friend! I couldn’t just—“

“He _was_ your parole officer! Him turning up dead, right after you’ve been released from your probation period? You’re the first person they gonna suspect.” When Kame keeps looking at him in disbelief, he sighs. “Just go. I’ll take care of it.”

Kame hesitates.

“GO!”

He bolts. Near the juncture, he looks back. Uchi’s liberating Koki’s gun from its holster with his gloved hand. Kame’s blade is still stuck on Koki’s stomach, undisturbed, blood still pooling freely around it.

He swallows, and runs. This time, he doesn’t look back.

-

(Four hours later, Jin pokes his head into his room, his phone in his ear. He only manages to hear _Kame’s asleep in--_ before Jin closes the door again.

His heart is thundering inside his ribcage so loud he’s surprised Jin doesn’t hear it. He feels cold all over, despite thousand layers of blankets he manages to bury himself in. His face is wet, though from sweat or anything else he couldn’t be sure.

If Jin had bothered to turn up his mountain of blankets, he would find Kame still in his afternoon clothes, with Koki’s blood staining everything with red red _red_ , including the bed sheet he’s laying on.

It’s only much, much later, Kame realizes that his hands are no longer shaking.)

-

(“If only,” Yamapi says, and stops.

But Kame hears it anyway: _If only we had met under different circumstances. If only things were different. If only we hadn’t made the choices we had made._

_If only we weren’t who we were._

Kame looks away. “Yeah.” He doesn’t say, _I’m happy as I’m now._ He doesn’t say, _If this was another life, I don’t think we’d be friends._ He doesn’t say, _Even if I could turn back time, I would totally make the same choices all over again – if only so that I would still be here, at this moment in time, standing in front of you and speaking to you._

He doesn’t say, _please stay._ )

-

He’s huddling over in the corner, pressing his knees to his chest, head down, hands raised above his head in a protective gesture, trying to make himself as small as possible. His eyes are shut tight, his lips closed tight, lower lip bitten to hell, and he’d like nothing more than to cover his ears, except he doesn’t like to make himself open to possible threat if he moved his hands.

Jin’s somewhere in the room—sometimes near, a hairbreadth away, sometimes far, but never too far—shouting things, things Kame refuses to hear, things that should’ve no meaning except they do, like _how could you kill him_ and _how dare you fucking show up in front of me acting all innocence when you’re the one who destroyed my life--_ and _my own fucking team_ and _Is everyone on in this am I the one not realize--_ and _say something dammit!_

There’s the delicate sound of breaking glass, the dull noise of falling ornaments and breaking pottery, as well as the sound of things crumbling as Jin unforgivably steps on them with his shoes, indiscriminate in his quest to destroy his own flat.

He doesn’t know how long it’s been going on, but it must be long enough, for someone is ringing the bell continuously and knocking on the front door impatiently.

Kame hears Jin cross the room and open the door. There’s a conversation in low voices, and then more shoutings, this time Jin’s not alone in exhausting his vocal cords.

\-- _you should’ve fucking told me—_

_\--not the right time—_

_\--my fucking team, damn you—_

_\--not just about you, you selfish—_

And then Kame feels someone hoist him up by his arm, which he’s too surprised to resist. As he tries to regain his footing, he’s looking into the worried face of Nakamaru Yuichi, Jin’s teammate, who often brings him cool gadgets and bakes him cookies.

“Come on, we’re going out.” Nakamaru says, wrapping an overcoat over Kame’s frame, before putting a hand over Kame’s shoulders and steering him to the door. Numb, Kame just follows his lead, until Jin’s voice stops them.

“He’s not going anywhere.” Jin says harshly.

“Oh, but he is.” Nakamaru says, not even looking back. “Besides, I don’t think your flat is habitable at the moment. He’s staying at my apartment, and that’s final.”

There’s steel in Nakamaru’s voice, something that Kame has never heard before in the usually-good-humored officer.

_“He’s my responsibility!”_

“Oh please. You can’t even take care of yourself right now.”

“What is this, you’re choosing _him_ over me, your friend for ten years? You’re choosing to protect a killer over your own mate?”

Poison in Jin’s voice, made even worse because he _means_ it to hurt. Kame’s eyes sting, and he keeps blinking them to clear up his vision.

“This is supposed to be classified; I don’t even know how Yokoyama managed to get this information.”

“You have no right—you have no right to keep this from me!”

“This is exactly why Tatchan and I agreed not to tell you.” Nakamaru sighs, unconsciously tightening his hold on Kame’s shoulders. “Don’t even think of calling him before you got your shit together again.”

As they leave, Nakamaru doesn’t slam the front door; but from his expression, it’s clear he’s tempted to.

“Please allow me to apologize for Jin’s behavior.” Nakamaru says, once he’s wrapped Kame with many layers of comforters in his apartment on the other side of town. “Of course, it would be understandable if you prefer to forget the event happening tonight.”

“He says I killed his fiancé.” Kame tells his knees. “He says I killed _Kamenashi Kazuya_ , his fiancé.” He blinks back the threatening tears. “But I _am_ Kamenashi Kazuya. So what did he mean…?”

It means all this time, Jin hadn’t known Kame was the one who killed Kazu. It means Jin had only found out, and is still upset about it.

And the thing is—the thing is, he deserves it. Every one of it.

“Jin’s not in his right mind.” Nakamaru says. “He’s way overworked and tired and the stress must have gotten to him. Do not listen to anything he said tonight.”

 _Liar,_ Kame thinks but doesn’t say. He closes his eyes, trying to get himself under control again. All the while, Nakamaru sits beside him on the couch, close enough to be comforting, but not enough to disturb Kame’s personal space—although just for this moment, Kame kinda wishes he is.

“If something like this happened again, just drop your ring, okay?” Nakamaru says, voice low, soothing. “I’ll come get you. I promise.”

The logical thing to do is probably to ask what the hell is this ring, because, what, does it has magic or something, since you’d appear if it’s dropped?

But as it is, Kame just takes the reassurance for what it is and burrows himself deeper into Nakamaru’s comforters, completely failing in feeling ashamed at crying himself to sleep at his age.

(Much, much later, he would realize despite all his frustration and anger and shouting and breaking things and destroying everything within sight, never once does Jin put a hand on him—never. The closest he ever got was when he punched the wall beside Kame’s head, doing no harm to anyone beside himself, effectively bruising his knuckle.

He couldn’t decide whether this makes everything worse or better.)

-

The thing about names is. They are. Well. _Powerful_.

“I could be a Yuya. Or a Ryu.” Said him, when Kazu asked for his name.

“You could be,” Kazu allowed, “but you don’t look like either to me.”

He shrugged. It wasn’t that important anyway. Ryo always called him by horrible made-up pet names, while Uchi rarely employed anyone’s name unless to make a point. The only ones who used his real name were probably the Management, and it was out of formal necessity.

“I know,” Kazu suddenly brightened, “You can be Kame!”

“Are you insulting me?” he frowned. He didn’t want to admit it, but Ryo was right when he said he wasn’t exactly quick on the uptake when it came to this kind of things. “Besides, I’m not your pet.”

“I’m _honoring_ you. With the half of my surname.” Kazu said. “So that whenever you hear the name _Kame_ , you know it’s me calling you.”

Sure, because that _wasn’t weird at all_. He stared at Kazu.

“Think about it!” Kazu insisted. “This could be our little secret!”

Yeah, because the fact he knew Kazu was an undercover police was totally _not_ a secret. He kept staring. And then said, “This is stupid.”

“Kame.” Kazu suddenly said. “Kame. Kame. Kame. Kame Kame Kame KameKame _KameKameKa_ —“

“If I agreed,” he cut him, “would that shut you up?”

Kazu beamed.

Thus, Kame was born.

(After that, Kazu used every opportunity to call him _Kame_ , until he started referring to himself as Kame in his head. Once, he accidentally called himself _Kame_ in front of Uchi, who found it _hilarious_ and kept calling him _Kame_ just for kicks. And then the nickname just…stuck.

Ryo blissfully went on calling him variations of ‘Ugly Face’.)

-

(“Kamenashi Kazuya.” Jin clears his throat. “Your name’s Kamenashi Kazuya. Usually I just call you Kame, though.”

He remembers Kazu and his Glock and that last sad smile and all the little secrets they shared, and thinks no, he doesn’t miss the irony. And no, he’s not surprised Fate is such a bitch either.

But all he says is, “Cute.”)

-

“Yamashita Tomohisa’s been looking you up.” Uchi says. His voice is low, as is the ethic when one’s inside a library.

Kame doesn’t look up from his textbook. “I figured he would.”

“Something you wanna tell me?”

“Not at the moment, no.” He taps his book impatiently. “I need more time.”

“By which you mean more information, of course.” Uchi dumps a stack of paper over Kame’s textbook, with Yamapi’s face printed on the top. Then he gathers his jacket and rises from his chair, blowing him a kiss. “Go nuts.”

Kame grins.

-

(“You never did tell me the reason you went away.” Uchi says.

“I know.” Kame says. “Doesn’t matter now.”

 _Ryo,_ Uchi’s expression screams.

Kame pretends he doesn’t see it.)

-

“It’s just me and my roommate, Jin, now. No family. They’re all gone.” Kame says. And realizes it is, in fact, _not_ a lie. Kamenashi Kazuya the former still has his family, somewhere in Japan. But Kamenashi Kazuya the impostor? He’s really, really alone.

It’s…unexpectedly upsetting.

It must show on his face, because the next thing Yamapi says is, “how’s your thesis going along?”

Then he launches into an elaborate explanation of the law of physics, complete with technical terms only physics major would understand, and Yamapi nods along indulgingly.

It’s…nice, surprisingly enough.

-

Once, he points Yamapi’s own gun at him. It’s, surprisingly enough, a _Glock_ model (just like Kazu’s).

 _A Glock is…special._ Kazy used to say. _It, I believe, is the problem child of the handgun family. It’s not as easy–or as safe—to use as a Beretta. With a bullet always in its chamber at the ready and the lack of external safety pin, accidents are prone to happen. It’s not for a beginner, nor for the faint at heart._

A betrayed look crosses Yamapi’s face. Faint and fleeting, easy to miss, but it’s there.

He could almost see the moment when Yamapi remembers just who he _was_ , the moment Yamapi berates himself for ever forgetting Kame’s always been a threat.

Kame puts Yamapi’s gun aside. Smiles. Reacts appropriately when Yamapi drops his towels. Picks Ran up on his lap, and waits.

By the time Yamapi re-emerges, he’s fully dressed. There’s no trace of his earlier fear, or shock. Instead, he looks resigned—and something else. Something that reminds Kame of the way Uchi used to look at him, something that makes his chest clench and his heart gone a mile a minute.

 _What a fool,_ Kame thinks, and looks away.

-

  
“Get the hell out of Tokyo-- _now._ ” Uchi says urgently over the phone statics.

 _Yamapi, you idiot_ Kame thinks, and runs.

Five minutes later, Kame’s in a post office, sending Yamapi’s necklace in a package addressed to Nakamaru Yuichi. Then he heads off to the business district in Tokyo, after his (stolen) police radio informed him that’s where the anti-terrorist unit and every other police in the area are dispatched to.

He takes a shortcut through a series of back alley, where there would be fewer obstacles for him to get around. He’s just about to jump over a fence when he hears it: the sound of a gun safety being clicked off.

“Don’t move.”

He freezes. Slowly, so very slowly, he turns around.

There, standing in front of him, pointing a gun at him with a hard look on his face, is none other than his friend, mentor, _brother_.

“Ryo-chan.” Kame breathes out.

It’s then he realizes it’s raining.

-

(“When you need anything,” Kame says, “just call. I’ll come straight away.”

“Sure.” Yamapi says.

“I mean it.” Kame insists. “ _Anything._ Just call me.”

“Of course.” Yamapi says. And then ruffles Kame’s hair.

But he never does. Call, that is.)

-

“Just… come with me. This isn’t you. You’re not fit for this kind of life.” Says Ryo, voice shaking. He’s holding a Beretta, a newer model than Uchi’s, with its muzzle pointed in Kame’s direction. Unlike his voice, his hold on the gun is steady, firm. Instincts will always trump over emotions, Ryo once told him.

_Come with me. You’re not fit for this place._

Kazu had said the same thing to him, two years ago. With almost the same tone of voice, even.

He smiles to himself. It feels painful.

“Ryo-chan.” Kame says, soft. “You know I’ll be as good as dead the moment I agreed to your offer.”

“No. No, you’re not. Just say you’re sorry; they—“ he grits his teeth, “they will understand.” _I’ll protect you._

He should focus on Ryo’s voice, he thinks. At the slight timber behind it. At the myriad of things he tries and fails to conceal behind it. Out of the three of them, Ryo’s always been the most vulnerable-- _emotionally_. He rarely cares for anyone, but once he does, he does it ferociously, with an intensity that’s more than a little frightening.

 _He’s a liability,_ the Management once said. Kame thinks he gets it now.

“Oh Ryo-chan.” Kame says sadly. “Stop fooling yourself.”

A few shots hit the ground around his feet, narrowly missing his sneakers. He doesn’t flinch. Nor does he take his eyes away from his former partner.

“All this time—you’ve been alive, and the only reason I found out is because the fucking Management got me an elimination target, with _your fucking picture on it_.” Ryo’s voice’s shaking harder now, with anger as much as hurt fueling his rage.

“About time.” His smile is rueful at best. “Honestly? I’m surprised they let me alone this long.”

Ryo grits his teeth, obviously biting back a retort.

Police siren in the distance, competing with the sound of the harsh rain hitting the ground. He feels cold, he thinks. And not only because of his soaked clothes.

“Ryo-chan.” Kame says, quiet, quiet. “If you’re here, does that mean Yamashita Tomohisa’s been taken care of?”

Ryo suddenly snaps to attention at that. “So that’s it? He’s the reason you ran away?” he sneers. “You’ve always been a little weird about him, but I never thought it was _this_ pathetic.”

“…is that a ‘yes’, Ryo-chan?”

Ryo tightens his hold on his Beretta. “Yes. Yes, it is.” He spats.

The thing about Ryo is, when he’s hurt, he would repay it a hundred times worse. When he means to hurt, he _means to hurt,_ no question, no doubt, damn the consequence. And right now? He _means_ it.

Kame really couldn’t decide whether Ryo’s telling the truth.

So he uncovers his Glock, and points it at Ryo. Ryo tenses even further. “It’s a _Glock_.” Ryo says, stunned, dumbfounded. Like he couldn’t believe Kame _dares_ to use it when it’s _Ryo_ he’s facing.

 _Glock is special,_ he hears Kazu say in his head. _It has monstrous trigger pull, which slows you down when you’re not used to it._

“Yes. But I’ve always been faster than you. When it comes down to it, I also have a better grip than you.” He puts a finger on the trigger. “Wanna bet who’s faster?”

“Stop kidding me! Stop this—this whole nonsense!” Ryo shouts. “Have you lost your mind? He’s not worth it! Nothing’s worth it when your life is on the line!”

“Then why,” he whispers, “are you _talking_ to me, instead of killing me on sight?”

Ryo shuts up.

“You’re stalling, Ryo-chan. If they found out, your hesitation would be seen as a treason—and we both know how it would end.”

 _A liability,_ the Management said. Of course. You can’t be a perfect killing machine when you care more for your friend’s life than for your own.

That’s why one of them has to go: they’re each other’s weakness. Eliminate one, and theoretically, their only weakness will be gone.

It’s a good thing Informants are so far beneath the Management’s notice, Uchi never enters into the equation—or he would be the first one dead.

“Ryo-chan.” Kame says, soft. “You know I love you, right? That I love you both? That I would never intentionally hurt you?”

Ryo keeps his jaw shut.

“But I also promised Yamapi I would come when he needs me; and right now? I think he does need me.” He looks Ryo in the eye. “Therefore, please forgive me.” He pulls the trigger. Twice. The first shot knocks the Beretta out of Ryo’s hand, while the second goes through his left thigh.

Ryo cries out--more from surprise than pain, he’s sure.

Without even waiting for Ryo’s fall, he turns around, intending to cross the fence—

\--only to come face to face with Uchi.

He doesn’t dare to breathe. How he could even miss the sound of Uchi’s footsteps, he doesn’t even know.

The rain only pouring down harder.

“Step aside.” Someone says an eternity later. He’s surprised to realize it’s him.

“No.” Uchi blinks rapidly. “You go after Yamapi, you’re dead.”

“Uchi—“

“That place is swarmed by the Police and our own Erasers. You take a step there with that thing in your hand—“ he gestures to Kame’s Glock, “—you’ll be their number one target.” Because when it comes down to it, an ex-Eraser would always take priority over an ex-scientist-turned-traitor.

Something moves behind him. He ignores it in favor of staring Uchi down.

“Step aside.”

“No.” Uchi repeats stubbornly.

“Step aside!”

“Over my dead body!”

They glare at each other.

“Fine.” Kame spats. “ _Fine._ If that’s what you want.” And then aims the muzzle between Uchi’s eyes.

To his credit, Uchi doesn’t even flinch away, despite the sharp intake of breath from Ryo’s direction. He keeps staring at Kame stubbornly.

“ _I mean it._ ” Kame grits his teeth.

“So do I.” Now Uchi just sounds plain petulant. What is this, grade school?

“Stop it.” Comes Ryo’s raspy voice, sounding pained. There’s that sound again, of the safety being clicked off. Obviously Ryo has recovered his Beretta. Kame’s almost tempted to turn around, just to check if the gun’s pointed at him again.

Wait a minute.

Ryo’s fired a few rounds from his gun earlier; he hasn’t had the chance to _turn the safety back on_.

Kame feels a shiver run down his spine. This time, it’s definitely not from the cold. “Uchi, did you come straight from point zero?”

Uchi blinks. “I… yes.”

A tail, then.

“On three.” Kame whispers, low, a finger pressed on the trigger.

Uchi blinks.

_“Three!”_

Uchi ducks, right at the same time several successions of gunshots are heard.

It is an eternity later, when Uchi touches the lapel of his jacket, trying to get his attention, that he realizes he’s still pulling the trigger of his Glock, despite the continuous sound of _click click_ of the gun trying to chamber a round from the empty magazine.

There’s body far behind Uchi, laying on the asphalt, half-hidden by a car. Dark liquid pooling around it, and Kame hopes the body is dead. His ears are still ringing from the sound of the gunshots, while his nose can’t help picking up the acrid smell of gunpowder.

He blinks. As he tries to refocus, there’s a stinging pain on his cheek, and his head is tilted to the side slightly, even when he doesn’t remember moving. He brings his sight back to his front; sees Uchi, eyes watering, face red, with a hand raised. Kame blinks again. Right. Uchi must have slapped him then.

_“—oh god oh god oh god ohgodohgodohgod—“_

He tries to focus on the sound of Uchi’s voice, so unusually panicky as he presses a hand, hard, on Kame’s chest. _What are you doing_ Kame wants to ask, but the ringing in his ears hasn’t eased; it gets louder, if it was actually possible.

All of sudden, he sees Kazu, a finger pressed on the trigger, saying _It’s not you--it’s me. I’m sorry._ And then it hits him:

What Kazu meant was, _This is my choice; please don’t blame yourself._

“Kazu was trying to spare me,” he says suddenly, surprising even himself. “I’m an idiot.” He says with a cough.

“Good if you actually realized you’re an idiot.” Uchi says. He’s sounding more than a little hysterical. His hand is still on Kame’s chest. It’s rather strange, because it almost feels like Uchi is half-hugging (supporting) him.

“What are you—“ he begins, only to be interrupted by a violent cough. His mouth tastes weird too, like something thick, a bit tangy perhaps. There’s another smell in the air, beside the gunpowder, beside the fresh smell of newly watered earth; like--something metallic?

He brings a hand to his mouth, and wipes his lips with his palm. It comes away red.

He blinks.

He turns his head slightly, looking for Ryo.

Ryo, who looks like he’s frozen solid to the ground, eyes unusually wide, lips chanting something that looks like _no no this can’t be no no no--_ The curious thing is, he’s honest-to-god _shaking_ right now. His hand’s still holding his Beretta Px4 Storm, a finger pulling the trigger back, and doesn’t let go—almost as if it’s stuck there. His eyes, so open for once, are fixed on Kame’s back in shock. He simply looks _wrecked_.

By the time he turns his head again, Uchi’s face is so close their foreheads nearly touch. This close to Uchi, Kame realizes rain is not the only thing running down Uchi’s cheeks.

“Oh god this isn’t supposed to happen how could this be—“ Uchi’s babbling, and he doesn’t even seem to realize it amidst his crying, with one hand still pressed against Kame’s chest, while the other supporting his arm.

It’s then Kame looks down, and sees blood seeping through Uchi’s hand, where it oozes out of two _bullet holes on his chest._

So that’s why he feels lightheaded; so that’s why his heart’s going a mile a second; so that’s why his ears are ringing still. An adrenaline-induced shock could do that to you.

Ryo’s finger frozen on the trigger. Two _exit wounds_ on Kame’s chest. Kame’s gun on Uchi’s forehead just before he tells him—in low voice—to duck.

 _Instincts will always trump over emotions,_ Ryo once told him.

“Oh.” Kame says. “ _Oh_.”

.

.

End.


End file.
